


there's a shimmer in your eyes

by sashawire



Series: stuttering to a stop [1]
Category: Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim
Genre: Body Shaming, Childhood Friends, Elf Culture & Customs, F/F, Implied racism and homophobia, Pre-Canon, Pre-Relationship, Self Image Issues
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-31
Updated: 2019-10-31
Packaged: 2021-01-15 19:15:54
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,511
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21258281
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sashawire/pseuds/sashawire
Summary: Her frame, tall and dignified, is a stark outline against the dancing reflected light of the river, facing the shadows where Camilla sits....Camilla falls in and out of love, moment by moment. This is where it begins.





	there's a shimmer in your eyes

**Author's Note:**

> Title is from 'Andante, Andante' by ABBA.
> 
> Also, the Camilla in this story is an original character, not Camilla Valerius.
> 
> Lets play: guess who the dovahkiin is!

It starts, strangely or not, with a glimpse of skin.

The three of them are only teenagers, and they sit by the riverside during the crux of summer. Birds whistle to their own music and the wind brushes its fingers through the tall, scratchy grass, twining and dancing.

Mara has long ago stripped to the loincloth, but she's just like that. She stretches across the sun-warmed ground like the half-house cat she is, claws out and feet in the water. The other two can tell that she's almost asleep, given the little snorty breaths and slack mouth, though her ears still prick up when a fish splashes particularly loud in the water.

It's not Mara’s skin that sets off Camilla’s awakening, thank the Nines.

No, it’s when Dem shrugs off her dark cloak - too dark and thick for the heat, even in Skyrim - and reveals an expanse of grey underneath.

She’s still mostly covered, fortunately (or unfortunately, though Camilla doesn't want to entertain those thoughts), only baring her shoulders, arms, and calves, but it’s more than enough to distract Camilla from the glinting sapphire flow of the river.

She's only really caught flashes of Dem’s skin before, when a sleeve slipped or cloth ripped. She's never really thought much of it. Mara loved flaunting her body, Camilla preferred soft, muted dresses, Dem hid herself underneath dark garments and flowing cloaks. It’s always been that way.

In a sad sort of fashion, Camilla now understands.

None of the three of them truly... _ fit _ into the expectations of their respective races. It's not the reason they came together (they were the only three children in their little skeeverhole of a village), but definitely one of the reasons they stay.

Mara conforms the most to the stereotypes. She adores mischief; sticking septims to the cobblestones, nicking sweet rolls from the pockets of strangers (who haven't learned to be wary of a little Khajit with a honeyed smile), breaking into someone's house just to remove all the laces from their shoes.

It was her name, mostly. No matter what she promises, it'll be hard to become the feared leader of a gang of criminals when you share a name with the god of love and compassion. Mara claims that people are going to love the irony, but Camille just pursed her lips in doubt.

For Dem and Camilla, the differences run much deeper.

Elves are supposed to be thin. They are supposed to be lithe, and graceful, and dignified, and elegant, and _ slim. _

Camilla had never fallen in line with those expectations from the beginning. Her hair, though long, has a bit of curl, a bit of bounce to it, making it appear thick and shorter, rather than long and sleek. Her skin glows a deeper, darker gold, more brown than anything else. And she's short. For a Nord, even. For an Elf, she's really, really short.

All of that would be forgivable, for a Wood Elf. (Talos forbid if she had been born Altmer.) If not for the fact that she is fat.

She has a soft tummy, and thick limbs, and chubby cheeks. Rather than being tall and bony and angular, she's small and round.

(It hadn't really set in fully until she was in her mid-teens. As a child, it had been almost cute to the adults, though she had been frustrated that she couldn't reach the top shelves like Dem (Demmie, back then) and Mara could.

Her mother had always assured her that she would grow, and all that 'puppy-fat' would just stretch away. Well. She never did hit that growth spurt.)

Dem, on the other hand, fits in almost entirely with the rest of the Elves. She has long, dark hair, usually tucked back in a half braid. She has pale, pearly grey skin, beautiful by Elf standards (if you ignore the scars streaking across her body), and she was tall. So tall that sometimes looking at her feels like trying to see a statue while standing at its base.

Dem even carries herself with the sort of silent nobility that is smiled upon in Elven circles.

She would be the picture-perfect Dark Elf, except that she's buff.

Dem is a warrior, first and foremost. It's not that she doesn't _ like _magic, she can be handy with a healing spell or a lick of flame, it's just that she has an obvious preference for physical weapons.

Not even a bow, which would have been begrudgingly accepted by other Elves, even for a Dunmer. No, Dem likes hand-to-hand, melee weapons; warhammers, great-swords, war-axes. She sharpens them and polishes them and swings them into trees for practice. Thus, her rippling muscles and marred skin.

None of the three of them slot in perfectly to the holes cut out for them, but Camilla and Dem have it the worst.

Mara might get teased every once in a while by other Khajits for her soft name, but she can show them real quick who's the toughest street cat around, and others will generally go running with their tails between their legs.

For the Elves, they are excluded in much more underhanded ways. The others sneer at them, in ways only an Elf can, mocking, under the breath comments of ‘cow’ and ‘boar’ at Camilla, ‘Orc’ and ‘brute’ at Dem.

Now, Camilla had been raised by Bosmer parents, who had given her Elven standards. She is to marry an Elf, a male Elf, Bosmer preferably, who is tall and thin, but not skeletal. He must be upper-middle to higher status, and be easily able to provide for both her and the children that they are automatically going to have. These standards are considered very mild for Elven parents, but Camilla's parents did their best to account for their daughter's... appearance.

The expectations were instilled into Camilla from the day she first started her cycle, and was decreed legally allowed to marry. (Though, marriage at an age under sixteen, especially as young as eleven, was very frowned upon.)

So it's an utter mystery as to why Camilla can feel her heart beat unevenly when she catches sight of Dem's wide shoulders. She shakes it off.

Dem leans back, spine cracking, while Camilla winces, moving to smack her lightly on the arm. The back of her knuckles connect with Dem's bicep, and for a flash she feels hot all over as she realizes that she can feel the muscles working underneath as Dem laughs.

Camilla sits back into the shade of the elder tree, hoping the soft shadows will hide the sudden rosiness of her cheeks.

“Camilla, I'm not getting in until you do,” the low voice of her best friend suddenly breaks the silence in front of her, and Camilla barely conceals a squeak as she realizes that Dem is _ right there. _

Her frame, tall and dignified, is a stark outline against the dancing reflected light of the river, facing the shadows where Camilla sits.

She sees that Dem is holding a hand out for her. She takes it without thinking.

Dem's grip is the same as always. Firm, almost practiced in its balance, and calloused, in the pad of her thumb and the little patches where her fingers meet her palm. Her hands are long but sturdy, just like the rest of her. Camilla feels warm enough to heat the entire river.

Dem pulls her towards the river, and Camilla hurriedly kicks off her shoes on the way there. She pulls the string of her dress, and shrugs it off, so that she's left in her underwear.

Dem takes the first plunge. She jumps into the water with a splash, waking Mara from her half-nap on the bank. There's a disgruntled hiss, and a swear probably mixed into it somewhere.

Camilla steps in more slowly, sure to keep her eyes off Dem's slick form. It doesn't last for long, though. Dem grabs her by the hand, impatient, and pulls her in.

Her shriek echoes up and down the rushing river.

Mara joins them after about two minutes of quiet cursing, slinking into the water with swears at how cold it is. She shakes herself out, looking for all of Tamriel like a grumpy, gangly wet hairball.

The first time it ends, it's with a scream.

Which scream, is unknowable. Camilla isn't sure at what point she forgets to think about Dem and her muscles.

It could be when Mara grabs her ankle from under the water, fur slimy and claws out, and Camilla swears hard enough to make a bandit blush.

It could be when she spots a mudcrab trying to steal their clothes, and lets out a yelp so high that even she winced.

Maybe it was just the first shriek she had let out when Dem tugged her into the freezing water.

It doesn't really matter which scream it was that banished Dem from her mind. The point is, she went to bed without a thought in her head about climbing Dem like a tree.

It doesn't start again until a while later.


End file.
